


My Heart is Gold but My Hands Are Cold

by Princessfbi



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: BAMF!Margo, Bullying, Dabbles into Backstory, Eliot has feelings but he's not a pushover, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Protective!Margo, insecure!Eliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:56:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9821426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princessfbi/pseuds/Princessfbi
Summary: Margo returns to Fillory with Penny to find out that Eliot has gone missing.





	

Being drugged was tedious. Not only was it, first of all, rude but also a tad bit patronizing. Eliot was perfectly capable of picking out his preferred cocktail to send him into the blissful edges of his mind used solely for the purpose of substance hazed oblivion all on his own, thank you very much. 

Being drugged _and then_ kidnapped? Also tedious. He was the fucking high king of Fillory. He had babies to kiss and people to grace with his presence. He simply did not have time for some crazed rogues. Eliot would've rolled his eyes if the sun wasn't serving as a constant reminder of his nonconsensual drug fueled night that, if he was remembering correctly, involved him waking up periodically draped over someone's shoulder like an accessorized jacket at the races. Though, he must admit, whatever they gave him was some strong shit for lack of a better description. Forgive him. He was, after all, in a rather precarious position. 

Still, he could remember drifting and casting something before he would fall under again. 

He would just have to hope Quentin or Margo---most likely Margo--- would notice his little bread crumbs he etched in their path. 

Maybe Penny would hear his thoughts. His mind was a little hazy and Eliot had no idea what sort of state his wards were in. Wouldn't that be interesting. Maybe he'd pretend to swoon. Maybe he really would swoon. 

At least he still had his crown. It felt off though. Like whoever had put it on his head had done so with little care to his scalp and the circlet pushed down on his curls until they pecked at his eyes. He would push them out of his face but that would require him to have control of his arms and they were currently tied together and strung up to an impressive tree branch. Thankfully, his height seemed to ease the ache on his shoulders.

Tedious. 

"I see you're awake, Your Majesty." Eliot tried not to jerk his head too much. No need to fall victim to the undignified. Eliot purposefully---also because his head was still throbbing--- took a long time to take in his overzealous would be fan. 

He was a rather stout man with more brawn than the average farmer found in Fillory but with the dirt kissed skin of someone who spent more time outside than in. His natural intimidation stemmed from his cold calculating eyes that in other circumstance Eliot would’ve found as a challenge. 

Oh, what the hell?

"It's customary to kneel."

The punch was to be expected but the other to his stomach was not. His breath raced from him before he could even wish it goodbye and he found his face incredibly close to his knees as he doubled over. 

A hand snatched at his curls and pulled his head back, the pain pulsing through his headache and into the base of his neck. 

"Ok.” He wheezed. “Kneeling’s a stupid custom anyway."

"You will find that your time here, sire, would best be held in silence." There wasn’t any sort of malice in the way he said it but the monotone advice was enough for Eliot to fight a shiver that raced down his spine.  

Eliot swallowed when his hair was released. "And where exactly is here?" 

He was outside. That much he knew. He was also in the forest which didn’t help at all since Fillory seemed to be a hundred percent forest. 

Short and Stout narrowed his eyes and for a second Eliot wondered if he was going to get punched again---  
  
"So, the little princeling is awake."

Even without seeing the man first, Eliot already knew he’d hate him. This one was much taller than Short and Stout and not just by his ego. Large broad shoulders and calve muscles Eliot couldn’t help but begrudgingly appreciate waltzed up to Eliot’s tree--- he was the king, it was his tree regardless of if he was tied to it or not--- with a grandiose that was too well practiced in his head and not in social events. 

A bully. Eliot had never liked bullies.

His face was also stupidly tiny. Tiny eyes, tiny nose, tiny mouth. All overshadowed by a large protruding brow.  
  
"Trust me. I am many things. Little is not one of them." Eliot let out a bored sigh. "And as you can see, we established the fact that I'm awake about five minutes ago. Let's move on shall we? What do you want?" 

“All in due time.”

“See that’s not really going to cut it for me---“ Eliot doubled over around the fist that had punched his stomach for a second time. His footing slipped out from under him and the only thing keeping him from swinging like some unglorified chandelier was his grip around the rope holding his arms up. 

It was probably a good thing that Eliot actually had a meal last night instead of his liquid diet of wine or his stomach would’ve emptied all over himself. 

Bully face watched the whole thing with an intrigued leer in his eyes. Unlike Short and Stout, he was actually enjoying the whole thing, taking in Eliot as he withered to catch his breath. 

Screw this. He did not create the person he was today just to have another group of bullies drag him from his now literal throne. 

Eliot’s feet struggled to hold him and for good measure he let his knees buckle under him again. Bully face chuckled and Short and Stout stoically held Eliot up until he could stand again. 

Which was the perfect distraction for Eliot to mutter his spell and twist his fingers for popper twenty-nine. With one solid tug, the rope around his wrists broke free. 

Short and Stout lunged forward and grabbed him around his middle before he could get away but Eliot’s arms were still free. He pressed the ball of electricity sizzling in the palm of his hand against Short and Stout’s chest, stunning him enough to let Eliot go. He didn’t wait. Slipping free, he turned on his heels and ran. 

Bully face was yelling and was that another shout? How many people were actually apart of this whole thing? 

A strong hand grabbed at his arm and Eliot moved on instinct. His fist swung around and landed right into Bully face’s … well his face. He couldn’t even be surprised to realize it worked because his flight instincts were much stronger than his fight instincts at that moment and when he was free he started running again. 

How utterly unbearable it was that Eliot was running from another Logan Kinear. Except this time he wasn’t in his hometown. He was in a forest he was still learning because he’d been king all of five minutes before he’d screwed up again. Not that it was entirely his fault. Margo, Alice, and Quentin had all but abandoned him to fix this place. Not that it was entirely their fault either, he guessed. 

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d even be in this mess if Margo was by his side. 

Probably. But it’d be way more fabulous. 

The shouting grew distant and his heart felt like it was ready to come crashing through his chest by the time he swung around a tree and took a moment to stop. 

Christ, his lungs were on fire and the place where he’d been punched already started to ache into a bruise. To think: only a few months ago he’d been sipping martinis over a quaint BBQ with Margo on the soft lawn of the cottage. Now he was high king and hiding. Pathetic. 

No. He shook his head clear of the distracting voice of his own mind and tried to focus. Where was he? 

The forest was dense. You couldn’t see past a tree without running headlong into another. Overgrown plants coiled and curled along the ground and snared up anything low enough. The garnish to the natural cocktail? Fog. There was a heavy fog that hung low in the air. Great. He had no way of knowing which way was up or down.  

A shout sent Eliot running without direction before he could even think about it.  

“Over there!” 

There was one rule when you were running away from a group of bullies or in this case kidnappers. One rule that Eliot should’ve had memorized in his brain alongside the ability to blink. It was so important and so fundamental. Never ever look back when you were running. It was the worst possible thing you could do.

And yet, Eliot did it anyway. 

He barely got a glimpse of four angry men chasing after him before he was tripping over something and falling face forward.

His legs were sucked underneath the surface of what should’ve been solid ground and he was pulled waist deep into some dark tar like goop before he could find purchase. 

“No! C’mon!” Eliot cursed and pushed himself up. His legs wouldn’t move and he was dragged further down. His hands twisted frantically as he slipped deeper into the pit but his magic had abandoned him just like everyone else. 

Fuck! C’mon! Fuck fuck fuck!

His stomach was throbbing as he sank waist deep. The goop was uncomfortably warm in a not a kinky way and unfortunately, Eliot noticed, suffocating. It was getting harder and harder to take a deep breathe as the black odious pit reached his chest. 

This was it. This was how he was going to die. 

Not fighting the Beast. Nope! Not dying a hero. He was going to be consumed by a slime lagoon in the middle of his fantastical forest and suffocated. 

Great. 

A rough hand grabbed the back of his neck and pushed. He cried out and tried to pry the grip away but another set of hands reached from under his arms and heaved. Someone else wrapped an arm around his waist with another arm curling around his chest and before Eliot could even realize it, he’d been dragged to freedom and dropped down onto solid, solid ground. 

“Holy shit,” he gasped, clawing at the ground around him to make sure he didn’t fall into another goop pit. 

“Your Majesty shouldn’t run off on his own. These woods are not kind to strangers.” 

Eliot froze at the unfamiliar voice that had a layer of condescending laughter laced in it. That proved to be enough time for the others to restrain his arms and pull him up onto his feet. 

Ok. Maybe it was the frustration of being caught again but the humiliation was crippling.

They were laughing at him. They were all laughing at him.  

It was through sheer will alone that Eliot didn’t blush. 

He dug his heels into the ground and threw all his weight forward to try and pull away but his arms were only wretched further behind him. A leg crossed over one of his, trapping him from an easy escape. 

A long time ago, when Eliot had wiped the blood clean from his face while the blood of a life he’d taken was still cooling on the pavement, he’d locked away something that’d felt like a basic bodily function for good. He’d spent hours exiled from anyone he could possibly hurt, terrified of his own ability to do something he couldn’t even put into words. It was only when his curiosity won out of over his own fear that he even knew what being telekinetic meant. So, he learned about it. He researched. He practiced in rows and rows of corn and plowed fields. He mastered his ability. And then?

He locked it away. He locked that part of him down for years and even after he’d been pushed into using it during his entrance exam, Eliot refused to use it. It was too strong, too predictable, and there was no telling who would get hurt. 

But in that moment, Eliot knew that if he didn’t use his telekinesis, he was never going to leave those woods alive. 

The pressure built up into his skull and his fingers curled into tight fists. He was going to get another nose bleed. It’d been too long since he’d last released this pent up force inside him. He focused on the older man in front of him. He’d used the element of surprise again and next time he would just avoid the tar pits of doom. 

But the old man simply cocked his head, the faint whispers of more laughter reddening Eliot's cheeks. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you, Your Majesty,” he said as if already guessing what Eliot was trying to do. 

Nothing was happening. Why was nothing happening?

Suddenly, his vision blackened for a minute but it was long enough for his knees to buckle under him. The strong hands holding him tightened and he was sure there were going to be ugly bruises along his pale skin in the morning. When Eliot could see again, everything was swimming and the old man smirked. 

“The pits are enchanted. They drain magic.” 

What! 

“Oh don’t worry,” he said leaning forward. “You’ll be weak for a while but you should be fine later.” 

Eliot was seriously considering throwing up on his shoes. Which one of the two of them were talking to him? 

A hand grabbed onto his jaw and lifted his head up until he was face to face with the old man. 

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions. I’m afraid Rolan and Fergus weren’t quite what you would call polite company. My name is Brax. To answer your second question, sire, is that the reason you are here with us is because we have a few things we’d like to discuss with you.”

* * *

“What the hell do you mean he’s been gone for two days?” 

Fen, wife to the High King of Fillory, and daughter to a man who wished for a son was not someone who could easily be swayed. 

At least, that’s what she kept thinking in her head like some kind of messed up mantra. Although, Penny guessed, when dealing with a pissed off Margo he couldn’t really blame her. 

_I’m going to rip her---_

“Why didn’t anyone think to tell us Eliot was missing?” Penny injected before Margo could act on her aggressive impulses. 

Fen tilted her chin high, her lip trembling with the stress. “It wasn’t a priority---“

“Wasn’t a priority?”

Jesus Christ, Margo’s voice was just as loud in his ears as she was in his head. Usually she and Eliot were blissfully silent with their thoughts. But the moment Margo had looked for Eliot and hadn’t found him in the castle, her wards had started to crack. Since Margo was never one to keep her thoughts to herself anyway, Penny was experiencing a very loud, very panicked echo.

Fen bristled at the accusation and her thoughts were racing away from anything actually helpful to a small defensive hole that Penny didn’t care or want to go down with her. 

“I am the king’s wife and I was notified of the situation immediately.” Don’t do it. “Everyone else was a second thought to bringing the king home.”

Oh Jesus. 

Penny didn’t have time for this shit. Not only was there some mass murdering psycho hunting down the others and namely him but his hands were still on the fritz. Sunderland’s temporary fix was a relief but it wasn’t permanent and on top of trying not to _die_ he had to deal with this crap.

A dangerous glint flashed across Margo’s eyes 

“Eliot is my best friend, you little bitch---”

“I am his  _wife_ \---“

“---Yeah and I’m the High Queen so I outrank you on both counts.”

Fen was startled into silent submission.

Margo didn’t even bother to look smug. Penny got it though, he guessed. Margo had been stressed ever since they’d had to leave Eliot behind in Fillory. These people were annoying as fuck but even Penny didn’t feel right about leaving a man behind. It’s why he’d only been slightly put out when she’d asked --- demanded--- he travel her back with some things from Eliot’s old room to take to him.

“How could this even happen? This place is swarming with guards!” As if to prove his point a large section of guards fully decked out with weapons and shit marched by the window. Fen’s lips pursed.

_He wanted to be left alone._

“The king wanted to be… he wanted to… ‘blow off steam’---“

“I bet he did,” Margo muttered under her breath.

“How is that helping?” Penny snapped. 

“It’s not! What would’ve been helpful was knowing that Eliot had gone missing  _hours ago_. Now he’s God knows where.” The guard by the door tensed as Margo shouted, assessing Penny’s threat, his thoughts racing on how the king had been lost and the same could not happen to the queen.

Margo whirled back to Fen, who to her credit, didn’t flinch. “What have you even been doing?”

“The royal guard was dispatched but there’s no clear sign of where the kidnappers would’ve gone. So the king’s captain has been working on strategizing the best possible---“

“Wait,” Penny said with a swipe of his hand. “Are you saying that no one is out there right now looking for him?”

“Without any sort of idea of what direction it would be a waste of resources---“

Margo’s thoughts were so like a loud massive explosion in his head. Penny winced as it blasted against his skull.

“Waste of resources? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Fen’s face hardened and she stepped up to Margo just as fierce. “That’s not what I meant. Fillory is a vast land that has only begun to shape for the better under our king’s rule. But that means things are changing. If we were to waste time looking in the wrong direction then it could mean the difference between life and death. I want him back just as much as you do!” For a minute neither of them said anything. Penny only knew that Fen folded out of politeness for her queen. 

“There’s been no word as to what the kidnappers want,” she said. 

Penny felt a sharp cold shudder race down his spine as Margo took that news in.

_He’s dea---_

There’s a way that silence can be a lot louder than anything else in Penny’s head and he knew instantly that Margo had slammed her mind shut. 

“So, it could be too late?” She asked. Again, no one said anything.  Penny didn’t need to read her mind to know what she was feeling. Devastation, shock, loss, and then anger sliding into rage. Clenching her jaw, she shoved past Fen and stormed to the door. “Fuck this. I’m going. You and the stupid guard can catch up when you finally get your shit together.”

* * *

Brax was kind of like this dad Eliot knew once when he was a kid. He’d walked in on his son kicking the crap out of Eliot in the alley by the arcade when he’d been in the fifth grade. He could remember distinctly the cold wash of relief when he’d spotted them and his son--- what was his name?--- had dropped Eliot to bleed all over the pavement. 

Too bad the dad had cheered his son on and slapped him on the back with a proud smile. 

Dawn was rising and the magical drain from the goop pit was still pulling Eliot’s limbs into weakness. His fingers were finally able to flick around without him passing out. Well, the fingers on his not broken hand. 

Brax had let Rolan have the honors of doing that. 

“This is both for your safety and our honor code, sire,” Brax had said when they’d forced him to the ground and held out his arm in front of him. “We can’t have you escaping again and getting lost.”

He didn’t care that Eliot had seen him smiling as Rolan’s heel broke bones upon bones in his hand. 

Eliot didn’t remember screaming but he remembered they laughed again. 

He’d been dragged back to the same tree. Instead of his original position, though, they’d tied his hands behind him and around the trunk. His hand had throbbed, pulsing hot agony up his arm and into the bruise on his stomach. 

“What do you want?” Eliot had gritted through his teeth, riding through another wave of pain. Eliot may have passed out for a second after that because he’d seemed to miss the taunting. 

“--- we are used to a certain lifestyle.” Brax crooned. A mocking frown crossed his face and he knocked on the back of Eliot’s head with his palm. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, am I boring you?”

With a put upon sigh, Brax leaned back in his seat and twirled Eliot’s crown between his fingers. When had he gotten that? 

“Don’t worry, sire, I have no ambitions for this.” Brax held the crown up high, examining it thoughtfully. “It is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Symbolic indeed. See how the jewels are shadowed by the Biotite. They haven’t been polished either. The rubies and topaz are rough and uncut and surrounded by sphalerite. No. The man who wears this, is a man of the land.”

There was an insult in there somewhere but Eliot couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Is this the part where you tell me I don’t belong here and to go back to where I came from?” 

Surprisingly, Brax looked scandalized by the thought. 

“Oh, I would never imply that. However, it has been, after all, _years_ since Fillory has had a high king and like I said my men and I are used to a certain lifestyle.”

“If we could get to the point at some time this evening that would be splendid,” Eliot drawled. 

“My point is, Your Majesty, that you are a young man and young men have ambitions.” Brax mused into the crown. 

“How very assumptive of you,” he sniped. 

“I simply want you to reign in your ambitions where it, of course, impacts what it is I do.”

“So, let me get this straight." Eliot's eyebrow arched high onto his forehead. "You break into my castle, drug me, and kidnap me just because you don’t want me interfering with lifestyle choices? You are joking, right?”

“I’m afraid not.” If Brax could've looked any more smug Eliot would've actually thrown up. 

“You want a free pass to… what? Rob and plunder the people of Fillory?”

“Among other things but I’m sure we can come to some kind of compromise.”

Coy modesty was not a good look for Brax. 

“And if I agree to your demands… you’re just going to let me go?” God, he sounded like a script from a bad movie he and Margo loved to watch on rainy days. 

Brax smiled and it was even worse than the coy modesty. “Oh no. We’ll ransom you to the other royals and then we’ll let you go.”

“Figures.” Rolling his eyes had been a mistake and Eliot had to quickly slam them closed to keep the world from spinning beneath him. 

“I’m not one for passing up an opportunity. Even if it wasn’t the initial concern,” Brax admitted with a musk that smelled so strong of egotism, Eliot nearly hurled. 

Eliot heaved a deep sigh and let his head fall to rest and against the tree bark. Brax, sensing the end of Eliot’s willingness to partake in civil conversation, nodded and stood. Even if he wanted to, Eliot couldn’t move away as Brax dropped to a knee in front of him. The old robber was gentle in the way he cradled the back of Eliot’s skull and placed the crown on his head. Rough fingers pushed away an irate curl. 

“You’re young, sire. You still have a lot to learn." It would've almost been comforting if the man saying it hadn't been holding Eliot hostage. "Now.”

Before Eliot could jerk away, a cloth was shoved into his mouth and pulled taut around his cheeks. Brax pushed his head down and tied a knot, catching some of Eliot’s hair, until he was sure it was secure. “I must let my men rest and we can’t have you trying to cast anymore spells for the evening.”

And then he left Eliot to the abyss of his own company for the rest of the evening. 

It didn’t take a psychic to know what Brax thought of Eliot. To Brax, Eliot was weak. He was in over his head and easy to be manipulated. He may be a child of Earth with magical abilities but he was still debilitated with his naivety of what exactly Fillory needs. It didn’t matter what his blood prophesied because in the end, Eliot was going to get hung up on his own inefficiency.   
  
It would be so much easier if Eliot didn’t think all of that on his own already.   
  
His self preservation stemmed from a cowardice and not actually any high duty to get back to his kingdom.   
  
He trusted Brax about as far as he could throw him which was not far seeing as how Eliot had never been an athletic child. Sure, as a highlight of puberty he sprouted to six foot, but younger Eliot hadn’t been sure what to do with all his limbs and it was just a disaster to be avoided at all costs. 

So, he had spent all night trying to muster up what little strength he had to undo the knots around his wrists. It pretty much boiled down to him using up all his magic to pull strand by strand of the thick rope. Eliot was pretty sure he’d passed out three times throughout the night but by the time the first glimpses of dawn had shone through the trees, he’d weakened the rope enough that he should in theory be able to break it. He certainly was depleted of--- if not all than definitely most--- of his strength but he just had to wait for the right moment. 

The right moment, it turns out was when Rolan had thrown a bucket of water over him.

“Time to wake up, little princeling.” 

The cold jolt of shock would’ve been rude enough but then again Rolan, with his tiny bully face, seemed to miscalculated his taunting. Bullies always do. 

You see, when someone has something in their mouth that absorbs water--- like perhaps a thick heavy cloth--- that cloth will expand to accommodate the liquid. Great for hydrating. Not so great for breathing. 

In the shock of having his body drenched, Eliot had made the mistake of gasping and in his haste to suck air back in, his lungs were instead forced to choke on the suddenly impenetrable block. Bully face was laughing again as Eliot squirmed, taking enjoyment from the tears forming in his eyes and snot clogging his nose, and utterly oblivious, it would seem, that his captive was now suffocating. 

“You fucking idiot!” Someone roared over the pounding in Eliot’s ears as he bucked against the ground, his vision darkening. He was only vaguely aware of a shape shoving Rolan out of the way. 

“Do you want this shit to die?” Suddenly Eliot’s head was shoved dangerously close to his chest as the knot at the back of his skull was ripped away, pulling strands of his hair with it. When he was free of his gag, he only barely managed to lean to the side before he heaved out water that found it’s way too quickly to his stomach. 

“What if Brax had come back and he’d been dead? Are you insane? Go find something useful to do!”

The shouting was not helping but all Eliot could really only focus on was the oxygen making it’s way past his lips. 

A hard hand pounded into Eliot’s back. “There, there. C’mon and breathe already.”

God, Eliot was going to regret this. 

Before the voice that was most definitely Margo inside his head could stop him, Eliot threw his head up and head butted whoever had been standing over him. 

Holy fucking! Mother of God! 

Did people seriously do that like it was nothing? Oh my God. Eliot’s hands pulled at the last strands of the rope on instinct and grabbed his throbbing skull. Every cell in his body throbbed with white hot fire that burned scolding embers all along his head. 

“What the fuck!” Someone--- whoever had thought punching a hole into Eliot’s back to help him breathe--- moaned on the ground, clutching his face. 

Eliot grabbed onto the tree to pull himself unto uncooperative legs. He didn’t have time! But his vision was sort of spinning and black dots were making it really hard to figure out which way he was suppose to go. 

 _Fucking run already,_ Eliot’s head Margo screeched. 

He tucked his useless hand against his chest and ran. 

* * *

It was only because Margo was a hundred percent sure that her wards were up that she even bothered to let her thoughts circle around her. 

_I should’ve been faster. I left him here with nothing._

Guilt was not something Margo spent a lot of time dealing with. In fact, she pretty much learned early on how to prevent anyone from ever trying to make her feel like she owed them anything. But Eliot was different. He was her best friend and the only person who deserved everything because he never asked anything. They had each other’s backs without needing to say so. 

It didn’t matter though did it? 

It was her fault. She left Eliot alone with nothing. No life, no choices, and nobody to turn to when he needed it. 

It’s not like she didn’t realize that when they had to go back to Brakebills. It’s why she forced Penny to bring her back to begin with. The bag full of things Eliot would’ve wanted--- his favorite vests, sweaters that smelled like the cottage and Margo's perfume, some books, an old blanket he kept hidden under a pile of colorful duvets on his bed back home--- sat forgotten in the castle. She just hadn’t realized how severely he would’ve felt that abandonment. 

“Stop it,” Penny snapped from behind her. A prickle of irritation curled up her spine and she spun around to him. 

“I have my wards up. Stop trying to read my mind.”

“I don’t have to.” He grumbled and brushed past her. 

God, she didn’t even know why he had come with her! It’s not like he ever expressed concern about any of them. And really she was so over his bark and growl act that she was this close to telling him to fuck off somewhere else. 

But Margo, though it pained her to admit it, knew she needed him. She couldn’t find Eliot on her own. 

“You coming?” Penny shouted from over his shoulder, already a huge amount of distance ahead of her and not stopping. 

Margo opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she was going when she caught a glimpse of something. 

One of the trees was scorched. 

Margo ignored Penny to trace a finger along the scorch pattern. It was too precise to be anything but intentional. 

“Yo, c’mon already.” Penny had stomped his way all the way to groan behind Margo but she held up a hand. 

“Shut up, dickface. Look!” She pointed to the scorch mark as she spun in a circle, trying to find another. Anything. It could be anywhere. 

“What is it?” Penny asked, squinting hard at the burnt edges. 

There! 

She ran over a medium size rock and pushed back to her hair to examine the crispy edges of moss. 

“It’s Eliot,” she gasped, searching for another one. 

“What? How do you know? What the fuck is it?” 

There was another on a second tree a few paces away. 

“It’s a deer.”

Now, Penny was following her as she continued to follow the trail. “A deer? Like fucking bambi?”

She didn’t bother to respond and started to run in Eliot’s direction. 

* * *

Eliot wasn’t sure if they could hear his rapid panting from being a former smoker who just basically out ran an angry mob… but then again it probably didn’t matter since these guys were professional trackers and were basically hunting him like sport. 

Gulping as much air as his lungs could take he took off running again. He’d done an excellent job so far of avoiding any and all soul sucking pits from hell but he could hear barking along with the shouts of his pursuers so there was that. He didn’t make it far before his ankle caught on a fallen vine and his face met the dirt before his hands could catch him. Unfortunately, his body landed on his broken hand and he let out a hoarse scream before he could stop himself. Eliot slammed his teeth into his lip to keep quiet but a rogue whimper escape his throat.

Not exactly kingly of him. 

His magic was still weak and the men after him had dogs and knives. There was absolutely no shame in running as far away as possible. 

That didn’t make his fall to the ground any less panic inducing. 

“Over there!” 

Eliot shoved his heels into the ground and pushed himself up again.

His momentary lapse of motion had been enough time for the rest of the group to circle around, trapping him. 

A massive tree screeched as it crumble beneath itself and began to fall. 

And while Eliot’s vision swam with the effort it took to drop the tree, he didn’t stick around to see how many got crushed. Screaming followed and the rushing gush of guilt swallowed everything in his chest. Not now. He can’t deal with that right now. Those men were going to kill him and his friends. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to do it. He had to.

Eliot ran as far and as fast as his legs could carry him. Farther and farther away from the men behind him and further and further into the forest on an aimless bid for escape. And with one failed inhale of air, he was dropping to his knees, and gasping for breath. 

He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know where to go. How could he have ever let himself get into this mess. 

More screaming but Eliot couldn’t tell if it was real or in his head. 

God… he thought coming to Fillory… he thought he would’ve ended up… but now that it was here… now…

“You pathetic princeling of a boy.” The boot to his stomach was really too much for his body to handle. A harsh gasp left his lips as he curled onto the ground. He only barely was able to get a glimpse of Brax from behind his arms before the older man had kicked him again. And again and again and again. 

When Eliot had stopped reacting to the beating rhythm of Brax’s shoe against his body, Brax grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up. 

“My men are dead or dying because of you.” A fist sailed through the air and met his face knocking him back onto the ground. The impact of his cheek meeting the dirt was enough to render him into some sort of responsive instinct because he pulled --- crawled--- away into the cradle of some unearthed tree roots. 

He tried--- begged--- his abilities to help him. To send Brax away but the older man stormed towards him with the intent to seriously maim and injure. Eliot pushed a hand to Brax's chest when he grabbed him but Brax was strong and lifted Eliot like he weighed nothing at all. His back slammed into the soothing tree turned violent by some greedy asshole that wanted to bully Eliot into doing what he wanted. 

“This could’ve been so easy for you. But instead you had to make it difficult for everyone and one thing I’ve learned from life is that a man who runs like a coward is a man who has no regard for anyone else.”

“Just because I didn’t agree to do what you wanted? You---“ Eliot tried but was rendered silent when Brax threw him against the tree again. 

“You are no one. You are out here alone. I offered to be your guide.”

“You held me hostage---“ A backhand sent blood swelling into Eliot’s mouth.  

“I saw you for who you really are. A pathetic child wearing a crown. You are alone. No one will come for you and you---“ Brax startled into wheeze, his breaths clouding as they escaped his mouth. Frost coiled up his neck and onto his face, his skin turning blue with freeze. Eliot couldn’t help the shiver that ran along his body as the cold from Brax’s hands gripped his skin. With one last choke of resistance, his body collapsed onto the ground and shattered into large pieces. 

“Shut the _fuck up,_ ” Margo sneered in her beautiful sarcastic irony. Her hand hissed with frosty ice sizzling along her finger tips before it melted away into her gorgeous golden skin. 

Eliot wasn’t entirely sure if he actually processed what just happened or simply accepted it because all he was doing was gaping at Margo in all her righteous fury. 

“Bambi?” He gasped. 

That was when his legs decided to give up from underneath him. Kicking the pieces that used to be Brax away with her foot, Margo stooped down and met him on the ground. Her warm hands cupped Eliot face and wiped away tears--- when had that started?--- with her thumbs. 

“Listen to me,” she said urgently. “Fuck that guy. Fuck him. He doesn’t know a goddamn thing about you. You are Eliot and you are outstanding.”

He nodded because he knew that’s what he was suppose to do when Margo reminded him of that but he wasn’t entirely sure he was really grasping the fact that Brax was dead and Margo was really standing in front of him. 

“You came?” God, when did his voice get so gruff. 

“I came too.” Penny quipped grumpily from behind Margo. “You’re fucking welcome.”

“What happened to your hand?” Margo tried to grab Eliot’s very broken and very bruised hand but he winced at even the hint of her touch. 

“They broke it.” Something dark and dangerous flashed across Margo’s face but Eliot was too tired to figure out what it was. 

Everything was beginning to get a little too much for Eliot. He was falling to pieces and there were people around. Margo didn’t count--- even if he didn’t like her to see--- but Penny was there. He’d have to go back to his stranded island alone again and there were people there too. 

Everything was just getting a little too dramatic even for Eliot’s taste. 

Margo took off Eliot’s crown and the weight literally lifted off his shoulders. She tucked herself under his arms and with a little maneuvering and a threatened Penny helping, they were able to stand. 

“Lucky for you Penny knows just the place to fix hands.” Margo and Eliot shared a smile at Penny’s expense. “We’ll go nice and slow. Just lean on me.”

Eliot buckled and Margo caught his weight. 

“Always do, Bambi.”

 


End file.
